


the river of time

by OnyxSphynx



Series: newmann one-shots [33]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Immortality, M/M, also tho, kinda sad?? but like peripherally, sentimentality(tm), they're like vampires but not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 01:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18272981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphynx/pseuds/OnyxSphynx
Summary: Newt's not dead. Neither is Hermann. That proves to be a bit of an issue





	the river of time

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: "Could you do the prompt about one being dead for 2000 years and the other being dead for like 2 hours?"

“I _—what?_ ” Hermann’s pale, eyes wide and still, frozen, staring at Newt. “No that’s—that’s not possible!”

Newt laughs wanly. “Yeah, I wish,” he replies, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “God, I wish.”

* * *

They come screaming out of the Drift. It’s all overwhelming; Hermann throws up in a discarded toilet, and then they have to rush to warn them that the plan isn’t going to work, and somewhere along the line, Newt realises that  _he felt Hermann’s heart stop in the Drift and never felt it start again_ and thinks,  _oh, shit_.

Because he can deal with a lot of things; being buried alive by a frenzied crowd of villagers? Sure, no problem. Kaiju attacking the Earth? Yeah, he’s dealt with that like, every Sunday, no sweat.

Having to explain to his lab partner and crush of over a decade that he’s basically a zombie? He has no clue.

So, in typical Newt fashion, he doesn’t say anything. Hermann’s—Hermann  _is._ He’s been a constant in Newt’s life for over a decade, and, as much as it sucked to know that he was going to grow old and die while Newt lived on indefinitely, he’d never wish his curse on anyone.

Except now, Hermann’s—Hermann’s  _got it too_. Newt’s not sure how he’s going to deal with the realisation once the weight of the situation fully hits him.

_Badly_  is the answer; he breaks down in the lab, actually, right in front of Hermann. “I’m so sorry,” he sobs, “I didn’t—I shouldn’t’ve let you Drift with me.”

“Newton, what are you  _talking_ about?” Hermann asks, bewildered as Newt cries into his chest, tentatively wraps his arms around the shorter man. 

“I—you don’t understand, Herms, I—” he sniffles. “I’m—I can’t die. And now you can’t either.”

Hermann pulls back and stares at him. “Newton,” he says sternly, “don’t be silly, that’s ridiculous.” He frowns. “Are you sure you’re okay, Newton? The Drift with Otachi’s offspring could what’s addled your brain—”

Newt barks a laugh. “No, no. No, it’s not—I—fuck,” he sighs. “You don’t believe me. Okay.”

He stumbles back from the physicist, pulling out drawers until he finally finds a scalpel. “Newton—!” Hermann leaps forward, alarm flashing across his face, but the scalpel’s already ripped through Newt’s skin, blood spraying from the carotid and jugular. 

He drops to the floor, black encroaching on his vision, and Hermann falls to the ground by his side, pressing his hands to Newt’s neck in a desperate attempt to stem the blood flow in vain.

His face is panicked, and his grip on Newt’s neck is desperate. “Newton, no—what have you done?” he cries, and Newt tries to answer, comfort him that it’ll be over soon, he’ll be fine soon, but—

—he gasps, the black fading away, and his head’s in Hermann’s lap. “See?” he croaks, “I’m fine.”

“I _—what?_ ” Hermann’s pale, eyes wide and still, frozen, staring at Newt. “No that’s—that’s not possible!”

Newt laughs wanly. “Yeah, I wish,” he replies, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “God, I wish.”

Hermann’s clothing and his own are both flecked with blood, and Hermann sits silently as he explains it. The curse is no longer only Newt’s—it’s Hermann’s as well. He’ll never be able to die. “I’m so, so sorry,” Newt says, softly. “If I had known, I—”

Hermann rises abruptly from where he’s sitting and storms out. Newt doesn’t follow him.

After that, Hermann disappears for a while—Newt doesn’t know where he is, but he knows that the other’s going to need time to get used to the idea, so he doesn’t look.

They meet again in what was Egypt, in 2307; Newt almost misses him in the press of people in the club, but the other’s face lights up in recognition, and he claps a hand on Newt’s shoulder. “Newton!” he exclaims. “By Jove—what are you doing here?”

Newt squints for a second, before—”Hermann?!”

Hermann laughs. “Yes, dear friend, it’s me—I haven’t seen you since the—” he cuts himself off. “Ah, well. We both know memories such as that are painful.”

“I’m here for the kaiju auction, dude,” Newt grins. “Man, peoples’ memory is, like, so freaking short. Can you believe they’re auctioning four rolls of skin and Otachi’s tongue and wing bones as proof of dragons?”

Hermann raises a brow. “Ridiculous,” he sniffs. “It’s not even been two centuries—surely they have records of the War?”

Newt shrugs. “I dunno, dude, but—hey, we should catch up, yeah? I’m staying at a pretty nice place…”

So maybe he only manages to get the wing bones and one roll of skin, but Hermann’s company that night is worth more than any number of kaiju specimens.

They drift apart again, of course—it’s natural; they’re immortals with all the time in the world on their hands, and a million and one things to do. Newt gets it, and so does Hermann.

So, they meet up occasionally; the world’s only so large. This time it’s in New Paris, 2481. Newt gets a letter in the mail, postmarked from Berlin with no name. When he opens it, a piece of paper and a dried kaiju scale fall out.

_Constant Cafe, 3:00; dress in something grey—it brings out your eyes_ , the paper reads when Newt unfolds it, in electric blue, spidery handwriting, followed by a phone number.

_Fun or business?_ he types, presses send. A second later, another message pops up.

_Why not both?_

Newt grins. 


End file.
